Reflections
by freakily obsessed Yassen fan
Summary: Late night thoughts from our favourite detective duo, one chapter each. The two of them reflect on their friendship and what it means. Implied slash and language...
1. Drunken reflections of a Superintendant

Wow, it's been way too long since I last put anything up on here! I apologise in advance for this two-shot. This is the reason that you NEVER read slash and watch Dalziel and Pascoe in the same evening. Implied slash here, people. Don't like, don't read. Simples! :) Enjoy...

Dalziel hadn't liked him at first. Some smart-arse, off-comer lad, still wet behind the ears and buoyed up with the confidence that only a degree can give, moving in on _his_ patch? He'd given Pascoe a few months, six at the outside.  
>He hadn't exactly been supportive, he had to admit, but Pascoe had surprised him time and again. Gradually, Dalziel realised that the lad had steel inside him. Maybe only semi hardened so far, still pliable, but there was a hard core to Pascoe's apparently soft character. Dalziel unwittingly made it his mission to shape that core, to mould it into something that he himself would be proud of. A proper copper.<br>Over the years that followed, he'd come to respect, appreciate, and eventually to like the boy. He was one of those few people who Dalziel could see was an instinctive copper. He'd just managed to hide it quite well at first, under the impenetrable shield of a sodding degree. Of all the things he'd managed to accomplish when it came to Peter, stripping away that innate snobbishness was the one that he was most proud of. Course, there were problems to that. By making Pete more human, he'd made him more approachable, more attractive to women. Once he'd divorced Ellie, Peter had started dating again. Dalziel hated it. It was a stupid distraction from work. Of course, a man had his needs, but there was no harm in finding some nice lass, getting your leg over, and then buggering off by the time she woke up from her aching, backbroken stupor. But no, of course, this being Pascoe, he had to go the whole hog. He involved - notice Dalziel's suppressed shudder - emotions. That was where it all got complicated.  
>Of course, what Dalziel didn't admit, even to himself, except at the end of a very long night when he found himself semi conscious on Pete's sofa, was that there was another reason. It wasn't a good reason, and God knows that it felt fucked up to even consider thinking like <em>that<em> about the lad who had come to feel like the son he'd never been lucky enough to have. Or maybe a brother. Either way, he shouldn't even be opening the door to these thoughts without the chain firmly on, let alone allowing them in, inviting them to take their shoes and offering them a cuppa. Hell, he'd even put sugar in the sodding tea.  
>And of course, it wasn't like he was... like... well, like Wieldy. Not that there was owt wrong with it, but it just wasn't him. He was straight as a ruler. But Peter...<br>God, this was fucked. Why was he even thinking it? Must have been one of them nights. He was going to regret this one in the morning.  
>Anyway, Pete was special. They were friends. As close as brothers, but without the complexities that blood brought with it. It was strange, but Dalziel had to admit occasionally that he actually trusted him.<br>Plus there was the matter of Peter's looks. To start with, he'd been scrawny and skinny, too damn perfect. There had been a distinct lack of anything... well, human, about him. But he'd filled out, muscled up, got a tan. His hair was close cropped now, which made one hell of a difference.  
>And that steel had hardened, finally. Now Peter's mouth could set into a thin line which made Dalziel flush with protective, possessive pride, and he could even stand up for himself against the juggernaut fury of the Fat Man.<br>In all, Pete was the exception to the "straight as a ruler" rule - apologies for the crap pun, but he wasn't feeling his best, or even his most sober. Hell, by now, he was probably approaching sober from the other direction.  
>Some sound penetrated the thick bubble of alcohol and Dalziel turned his head sluggishly, the view not quite lining up with the movements his head was making.<br>It was Pete, dressed only in a pair of tight fitting shorts - real shorts, not boxers. The muscles of his back were clearly defined and Dalziel felt a shiver of something snake down his spine and nudge certain parts of him that were certainly not accustomed to this sort of call to attention. He dragged his gaze away and closed his eyes again.  
>He was so going to regret this tomorrow.<p> 


	2. Sober guiltiness of a DCI

Chapter 2...

Peter Pascoe was confused as he lay still in bed. His arms were by his sides and he could hardly feel the girl pressed close to him. She was warm, her body soft and yielding, but he scarcely noticed. Normally he knew that he would be fighting back a heavy desire as her arm lay across his hips, but tonight... nothing. He didn't want her.  
>Work weighed heavily on his mind at that moment. They were midway through a case and the familiar feeling of utter exhaustion was beginning to take over. And yet he couldn't sleep. Whenever he closed his eyes, all he saw was Dalziel. The wounded expression on his face when he saw Peter with the Chief Constable. He hadn't said anything, which showed just how hurt he was. Normally, Dalziel would have chewed him out over it, but instead he'd just mumbled an apology - an APOLOGY! - and left the room. It made Peter squirm with guilt just thinking about it. He should have said something, told Dalziel that it wasn't what it looked like. Except it was what it looked like. Peter was betraying Andy.<br>The Chief Constable wanted to discuss the Fat Man's methods, thought that he was maybe straining himself too much. Peter's initial thoughts had been shockingly Dalziel-esque: He'd be a lot less strained if you stopped staring over his shoulder, waiting for him to make some tiny mistake so you can put him on leave. But then he had seen that there was a tiny bit of sense in his worries. Dalziel was the lifeblood of CID. When he was strained, they were all strained, strung out and worried. Dalziel needed careful handling when he was "strained".  
>"Andy has some... original methods," he'd conceded, "but he's the best man for getting the job done."<br>"Exactly. I don't want any of my DC's thinking that Andy's original methods are allowed. Dalziel has got away with far too much over his career here."  
>"Got away with, sir?" Peter asked, his voice carefully dead. He was giving nothing away.<br>"Yes, Peter. He has got away with far too much. And I don't appreciate hearing about you talking and acting increasingly like Dalziel. Maybe you hope it'll further your career. It won't. All it makes me think is that you can't take the pace as Peter Pascoe, so you try to be Andy Dalziel instead."  
>"I don't need to be Dalziel. I can do this myself."<br>"So when Dalziel asked you not to disclose that he'd been drinking, you instantly reported him?"  
>Peter's silence said more than words could. And that was when the softest of coughs had grabbed his attention.<br>"Sorry, sir. I'll come back later." Andy had turned away immediately, but Peter had seen the hurt on his face, though he doubted that Trimble would have noticed.  
>And now he could feel the guilt coiling like a snake in his stomach. Typical Andy, he had avoided Peter for the rest of the day, making it impossible for him to apologise, or explain, or even say anything at all. He groaned quietly and turned over. Beside him, the girl rolled with him, her body pressed against his back.<p>

He almost pushed her away. It was too crowded with her here too, along with him and his roiling emotions. She didn't understand, of course, why he'd been so upset.

"He's just some guy you work with. No sweat," she'd said, twining her body around his.

He'd pushed her away angrily, and then not understood his anger. On the surface, she was right. Andy was just someone he worked with. But that wasn't all he was. Andy was his mentor, his friend, his confidante. There were times when Peter didn't know what he would have done without Andy's help.

He was painfully aware of the fact that, yes, without Andy, he wouldn't be where he was today. It annoyed him sometimes, but Dalziel never mentioned it. He praised Peter for the things he did right, and didn't chew him out too much when he went wrong. Most of the time, at least.

He knew that he had to explain, even if it meant going behind Trimble's back. His friendship with Dalziel meant more to him than anything else since Ellie left him. It wasn't like he'd planned it that way, but that was how it had turned out. He quite liked it, really. It was nice to have someone he could tell everything to, without worrying about offending them. Dalziel never got offended. You could call him a fat bastard to his face and he'd just smile.

And there was none of that relationship stuff to worry about. If they fell out, they fell out. Within a week they'd be talking again. It wasn't like that with women. Or at least, the women he dated.

Sleep was beginning to pull at his mind, blurring his thoughts and sending them off on crazy tangents. For a second he caught himself wondering what it'd be like to go out with Dalziel instead. Then he snapped his thoughts back to the present and laughed.

A moment later, he was asleep.


End file.
